


A Night in the Life of . . .

by Nicholas_Lucien



Category: Forever Knight
Genre: Blood Drinking, Gen, Minor Character Death, Monologue, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Past Tense, Radio, Rashomon Effect, Slice of Life, Vampires, Worldbuilding, radio broadcast, simultaneous arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 22:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9205955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicholas_Lucien/pseuds/Nicholas_Lucien
Summary: Following the same night in the life of each individual.





	1. Don Schanke

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to try out a few different writing techniques and this is what I ended up with.
> 
> Story includes references to quotation and interpretation:  
> "Let's kill all the lawyers." - Shakespeare, 2 Henry VI 
> 
> "Contrary to popular belief, the proposal was not designed to restore sanity to commercial life. Rather, it was intended to eliminate those who might stand in the way of a contemplated revolution - thus underscoring the important role that lawyers can play in society." - Dickstein Shapiro Morin & Oshinsky LLP Firm
> 
> "Life, what is it but a dream?" - Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass
> 
> I do not own these characters and is not intended to infringe upon any copyright owners. No profit is being made from this work.

Don woke that night in an excited mood.  He felt like everything was going to work out well tonight.  Nick was on vacation, had been for a few days already, but tonight was the night a rookie detective was assigned to him and he was looking forward to teaching and coaching someone.  Knight was a fine detective and partner, but even though Don was older and tried to share his years of experience, instinctual knowledge, and wisdom with Nick, he often felt his partner was not always that receptive.  Or knew more than he let on.  As if Knight was the older, experienced one, and he was the younger who still had much to learn.  But not tonight, he thought.  Don rolled over to look at his alarm clock.  The good feeling from a moment before immediately vanished, to be instantly replaced by panic.  He barely had time to get ready and clock in.  Don had no intention of being late and to have the rookie waiting for him.  As he lurched out of bed a vague recollection of his alarm’s buzzing sound waking him and then the hitting of the snooze button floated past. 

Don detangled himself from the sheets and quickly hopped into the shower and turned on the showerhead.  The shock of being hit with very cold water finished waking him up.  Don knew he didn’t have a lot of time, so he would have to just let the water warm up as he showered.  In his haste, he randomly grabbed a shampoo bottle, popped the top open, and was assaulted with the overwhelming smell of apples.  He had gotten hold of Myra’s shampoo.  Don used the product anyway, wondering why anyone would want to have something that smelled like fruit on them.  Of course, the scent triggered his own hunger pains, which felt like a rumbling beast inside him.  He was not looking forward to dinner; Myra was pushing the fruits and vegetables on him again.  He would protest, saying he needed strength for his job and rabbit food was not enough, she would nag, but he would eat them anyway.  For her and Jenny, he would make an attempt to be healthy and be around for them. 

Turning off the water and stepping out, Don smelled something he didn’t think he would: bacon.  He quickly finished putting on his blue shirt, cologne, lucky paisley tie, and steel gray suit, then headed toward the kitchen.  He found Myra and the plate of rabbit food, but he also found bacon on the plate.  And eggs.  For him.  Myra said she thought he might need a little something extra since he was going to be mentoring that night.  Don kissed her, ate his dinner, and left to go to the precinct.  Jenny was at a slumber party so he would see her later. 

As Don leaned back in the creaking chair at his desk, he enjoyed the satisfying feeling of having the Captain see he was on time to work, and waiting for the rookie.  The fact that he had been slightly late the last few days didn’t matter.  Don was there now, on time, and gave a small talk about not being late once the rookie, Belton, had finally arrived.  Don didn’t mention his own personal experience on that particular issue.  He showed Belton around, then settled down on working to finalize paperwork from some closed cases.  Always get the paperwork processed while there was open time, he said.  Don had no open cases right now, but they would catch the next body if one was found that night.  In the meantime, they would finish the paperwork.

Don was over by the coffee pot pouring out his third cup that night when a message was delivered to him that uniformed officers had found a dead body in an alley.  He tossed the coffee since it would be cold by the time they got back to the precinct anyway, grabbed Belton, and they headed out to his car.  Don missed being able to ride in Nick’s Caddy, but at least he would get to pick what played over the radio.  Polka music.  He drove to the address he had been given, the scene already surrounded with blue and white police cars with their flashing lights and marked off with yellow crime scene tape. 

He and Belton crossed into the active scene and walked over to the body.  Belton, he noted, stayed as far away from the body as possible.  Don got as close as possible and stooped down but didn’t touch anything.  Since Natalie had not arrived yet he couldn’t touch anything with the body except under extenuating circumstances.  However, he could look, and he took in as much detail of the deceased and the surrounding ground as he could.  He got back up, coaxed his partner for the night over, then asked Belton to tell him what he saw.  Don was impressed by how many details the rookie noted, and that Belton noticed the broken glass shards from a bottle.  With any luck, some of the shards would have enough of a detectable fingerprint to be useful.  While they waited for Natalie to arrive and release the body, Don got out his pen and notepad, flipping it open to a clear sheet of paper.  There were a few individuals with the uniformed officers and he needed to find out what they knew.  Stepping out of the way of the scene technician with the flashing camera, Don and Belton listened and questioned the witnesses to get a better understanding of the timeline of what had happened.  Only one person had seen others in the alley, mostly a group that had run off, but there might have been one person standing at the alley opening.  Or maybe not; it was dark.  Don tried not to sigh too loud and made a note of the possibly that there was another witness who had been scared off, but didn’t hold much hope of identifying that individual.  The group had more potential; there was usually always someone willing, with the right incentive, to turn on the others and identify them.  Don just had to find one of them to get the rest. 

Don closed the notepad and left Belton with the witnesses when he saw Natalie arrive.  He waited for her to finish her scene examination, then listened to her initial impressions.  She confirmed that most likely the body had not been moved, so the death had happened in the alley and approximately how long ago.  Don could tell this was a homicide but would need Natalie’s verification and cause of death, which would come from the autopsy, to keep the case officially open.  Knowing which impact had been the lethal one would be needed when he determined which individual had made that injury.  Now that the body had been cleared, he searched for identification.  Finding one, the victim now had a name.  Now he just had to figure out what had happened to the victim before the alley.  He walked back to Belton; time for the rookie to have an assignment. 

Back at the precinct, Don had Belton look up what was known about the victim while he handled a message that had been left for him.  There had been a phone call about a gang going after a man around the same time and location as their victim, which is what had brought the uniformed officers to the alley.  About two hours later they headed out again.  Belton had uncovered that the victim was a witness willing to testify against a known drug gang in Ottawa.  Schanke left a message for Natalie that tonight’s body was now a priority, then he and Belton headed out to determine where their victim had been and what he had been doing before being chased into that alley.  Don intended to start with the person who had made the emergency phone call to the police.

* * *

Strange as it was, Don found that he wanted to turn the car’s radio to the Nightcrawler’s show now that the time had arrived for the broadcast to start.  Nick must have gotten him conditioned after so many rides, he thought.  Don adjusted the knob until he got to the correct station. 

_“Tonight we are speaking of life, dear listeners.  How can you be sure if something is alive?  Kill it and see if it can die; that is really the only proof you need.”_

_“They say on swift wings Death comes for us all, in time.  For some, that moment arrives quickly; for others, that moment of stillness-”_

Don turned the radio off.  Belton agreed with him; that show was strange.  Driving in silence, he arrived at the address and parallel parked against the curb.  Talking with the caller, he was able to place their victim at a nearby bar earlier in the night.  Going to the bar, Belton proved he was very capable of getting some reluctant patrons to talk and their victim now had a known altercation in the bar that preceeded the chase.  With a known individual.  They returned to Don’s car and called in for an address for their first suspect.  This lead to their first perp being brought in for questioning.  The suspect didn’t want to talk but Don was used to that.  He had the suspect put into a holding cell while he took Belton back to the car and drove to the Corners Building.  He intended to drop in to see if the autopsy was completed, or if at least Natalie had determined exactly how the victim had died.  He would need that information for the interrogation.  Plus, the rookie needed to see what an autopsy looked like.  Don himself had a stomach of iron and was looking forward to getting something to eat after talking with Natalie.  Something with lots of garlic, since Nick was not with him tonight, but that was for later.  He parked the car near the building and Belton got out.  Simply to satisfy his curiosity, Don turned the radio back on to hear what the Nightcrawler was saying now.

 _“-the guilty, who were not monstrous enough?  Was it from the_ _virtuous, who were not more obviously pure?  Or was the source from himself that he could not recognize and judge between the two?  Everyone is guilty-”_

He shook his head; why anyone would constantly tune in to listen to that broadcast was beyond him.  The show was creepy, and the Nightcrawler’s voice was disquieting.  Don didn’t know how Nick could listen every night, acquired taste or not.  He turned his car key, and the Nightcrawler and his engine were silenced.  

As he walked through the corridors to Natalie’s room he saw that Belton was looking more and more sickened.  It was the smell, Don had said, the smell was just the cleaning solutions.  Belton did not seem convinced.  As he got to the door to Natalie’s autopsy room, he heard it.  Sounded like someone already in the room was viewing their first autopsy as well.  Don watched Belton cover his mouth and make a dash to the restrooms down the hall.  As he followed his assigned rookie, Don idly wondered how Nick had reacted when dealing with his first dead body.     

 


	2. Natalie Lambert

Natalie woke that night in a pleasant mood, but still fatigued even after her hours of uninterrupted sleep.  She had been over at Nick’s loft watching a movie after her shift last night.  She had enjoyed her time with him, more than enjoyed it if she was to be honest with herself, but she had probably stayed over too long.  Tempting as the thought was to simply push the snooze button on her clock then cover herself with the bed sheet and roll over to sleep some more, she had to get up and go to work.  There were too many cases she still had to finish, and with no sign of letting up, more cases would come in tonight.  She reluctantly dragged herself out of bed and went to the bathroom.  She would have preferred to take a warm, relaxing bath, but that was for later.  For now, a quick shower would have to suffice.  She was currently using strawberry shampoo and conditioner, and let the wonderfully fresh fruity aroma fill her senses.  This turned into a craving, and Natalie reminded herself to get some strawberries from the store the next time she was shopping.  Once finished with the shower, she dressed professionally, with a white shirt and dark gray jacket and skirt, then worked on her hair to restrain the strands under some sort of transitory control. 

Natalie felt her hunger growing, the sensation not unlike faint tendrils reaching upward and increasing her appetite and motivation to feed.  Currently, this was a gentle physical reminder that she needed to eat something before heading out, but it would grow more incessant if ignored.  She had skipped her meal last night and had raided the vending machine at work too often; she resolved to not repeat that again tonight.  As she headed toward the kitchen to get some food, she recalled that she had the new protein shake recipe she wanted Nick to try tonight, and made a detour to her phone.  She had mentioned this to Nick when she last saw him, but she had a suspicion that he probably had forgotten all about it.  She dialed his home phone number and was not surprised that the answering machine picked up.  She left a message and reminded him to come over to the Coroners Building close to the end of her shift.  She really needed to get as much uninterrupted work done as possible tonight. 

Glancing at the clock, Natalie realized she did not have that much time before she had to leave.  Continuing into the kitchen, she decided on a bowl of cereal when Sydney came up, purring while he brushed against her leg.  Smiling, she put her own meal temporary on hold to prepare dinner for the cat.  Natalie mixed the dry food with the small preliminary batch of Nick’s new protein shake she had in the refrigerator.  She never told Nick, but she and Sydney tried out all the protein shakes; the taste was bland, but not intolerable.  Her cat liked the mix and quickly ate his food, which was a better response than what she usually got from Nick.  Now that the cat was satisfied, she returned to her meal, satisfying her hunger.  As she crunched through the crisp flakes and squishy raisins, she made a mental note that once she found a shake recipe that Nick would drink and would work, she should try and adjust the texture and consistency.  Making a blood substitute that Nick had to chew would have him use teeth other than his fangs and perhaps make an easier transition to human food.  Finishing the quick meal, she washed out the bowl and put it back in the cupboard.    

As she was about to leave, she saw the box of heartworm pills on the counter.  She had forgotten to give Sydney his pill for a couple of days already, and she knew she should not put it off any longer.  Getting the pill and gently scooping up the cat, Natalie shoved the pill into his mouth.  Sydney tried spitting the foreign object out, but she was used to that maneuver by now.  She pushed the pill in again and as always, he stubbornly refused to swallow, but she was persistent.  Eventually, the pill was swallowed and the cat released.  With one complicated activity accomplished for the night, she left to go to the Coroners Building. 

Arriving quickly at her destination, considering the evening traffic, Natalie immediately started on her first autopsy of the night.  She was about to begin the internal work when her pager vibrated.  A body had been found and she needed to go on location to begin the preliminary exam.  With the help of her autopsy technician, she wheeled the body back into the cold storage room, where the decedent would wait a little bit longer for her.  She took off her lab equipment, grabbed her bag, and headed to the address she was given.

Finding the crime scene was, unfortunately, easy; she simply looked for the blinking lights from the various police cars.  Natalie pulled up to the alley as close as she could, then walked up to the temporary barrier marked with yellow crime scene tape.  Showing her badge, an officer helped her under the ribbon and led her to the body.  Scene technicians were already collecting and photographing the area, and she saw Schanke and another individual with him talking to a witness.  Natalie knew that since Nick was off Schanke had been assigned a rookie for the night; Don looked like he was enjoying having someone to mentor.  Though the scene was busy with people flittering about, no one was near the body so as to not disturb the work she needed to do.  Natalie bent down and performed her examination, then released the body to be looked at by the Detectives and then later to be moved to the Coroners Building as soon as the transport vehicle arrived.  She talked to Schanke, gave her initial impressions, wished him luck with his partner, and then returned to her car.    

In her room again, she put her lab surgical gown back on and continued with the autopsy she had started earlier, then finalized her paperwork and observations on the body.  Once that filing was completed, she returned the body the cold storage room while others cleaned and disinfected the examination table and removed the used tools for cleaning then sterilization in the autoclave.  She wished, as she had more than once that night, that the box of disposable medical gloves in her room could be replaced as well.  She always requested the non-powdered latex gloves but the ones that had been ordered were the powdered gloves.  A small irritant, but an irritant none the less, and would continue to be one until the next order was placed.  Natalie went to wash her hands again to try and get all the powder residue off before getting a bag of potato chips from the vending machine. 

Every forensic pathologist was backlogged, but the other bodies assigned to her would have to wait a little longer.  A message she had received earlier stated that the body found that night had become a priority.  Schanke had determined that the deceased had been a witness to a prior crime and had been willing to give testimony, so it was imperative that the autopsy was performed quickly and cause of death determined.  As Natalie was going over to claim the next individual now that the body had been prepared by the technicians, her mind wandered to what she heard had happened earlier that day.  The morning pathologist had autopsied an individual that had been impaled with a wooden rod through the heart.  What did that say about her life when her first thought had been that the victim could be a vampire, even though the body had been found at a construction site in the sun, outside, around noontime.  She was glad she did not have to perform that autopsy, especially if Nick was around; that might have been too disturbing for him.  And perhaps, now that she knew Nick and what he was, such an autopsy would be too disturbing for her as well.

* * *

Natalie returned to her turquoise-tiled room and, with the help of her technician, moved tonight’s body from the gurney up onto the examination table.  Preferring to work in her room alone, she began the meticulous detailed external examination, which would augment the evaluation she had already performed at the scene.  Once that was completed, she opened her sterilized tools, slides, and tubes that had been left for her and began collecting foreign and trace evidence, then started the internal examination and tissue sample collection.  Natalie had opened the thoracic body cavity and had her hands inside the space when she heard the door to the corridor open.  Surprised, she looked up and over toward the door expecting to see her technician.  She smiled when she saw the person entering the room was Nick, then scolded him for showing up earlier than she had said in her voice message.  But she couldn’t stay irritated at him for long and indicated with a nod of her head where he could stay while she worked around the body.  Not many individuals could tolerate watching an autopsy, but Nick had never minded.  She had assumed he had seen this and much worse over the centuries, but he never talked in detail about that.  Natalie had no intention of discussing this particular case with him; Nick needed a break every now and then, and she intended to help enforce his vacation from police activities and dead bodies.

As she worked, she noticed that Nick was staring at her radio, which was currently sitting on top of her metal filing cabinet behind her desk.  Natalie noted the time on the wall clock and knew the Nightcrawler’s broadcast was to start soon.  Schanke had mentioned to her about Nick’s intense interest in the show.  She knew he listened, and knew who the Nightcrawler really was to Nick, and was actually curious to see Nick’s reaction for herself.  She told Nick he could use her radio and he immediately took the item, put it on her desk, turned it on, and adjusted the dial until the ancient vampire’s voice came out of the speakers.  As the sound filled the room, she thought that his desire to listen to the show was more akin to an obsession.  Natalie was concerned for Nick; when he came back across, how many compulsions would he bring across with him, she thought.  Would he still seek out LaCroix, or would that connection be severed and he could truly be free?  She partially listened to the voice, noting that Nick seemed to be more than listing to the words, he seemed physically effected by them. 

“ _Still_ _others believe Death is a companion, one that walks with you and will eventually take you with it to the beyond.  What is beyond, who knows?  More life?  A different type of existence?  Or oblivion once the brain finishes with the last dream that was your life and tries to create the next part, only to realize there is nothing more to conjure, so stops trying.  Either way, Death is unavoidable_.”

Natalie returned most of her attention back to the examination, thinking that it was unsettling, even macabre, to listen to a speech about death while she was performing an autopsy.  As the lecture continued and her quick darting observations confirmed that Nick was clearly completely absorbed in the broadcast, she decided he needed to limit his exposure and right now was as good a time as any to start.  She took off her gloves, tossed them into the biohazard waste box, and clicked off the radio.  With as much care and concern as she could, she firmly told him that listening to LaCroix, even over the show, was not healthy for him since his desire was to sever all ties with vampires and his old life.  Out of curiosity, she asked what was it, specifically, that made him want to listen to his maker.  Natalie had only ever heard Nick discuss LaCroix with contained anger and rage, and she was sure there was some fear in him as well.  She couldn’t understand why he would want to voluntarily let any part of that man back into his life when he tried so hard to remove and be free of his maker’s influence.  Nick’s response of needing to hear the voice itself was not encouraging, and simply confirmed for Natalie that it was imperative she help Nick change more than just his diet and UV light tolerance. 

Putting on a new pair of gloves with disgust at the feel of their powdery insides, she went back to the internal examination.  Every now and then they talked, though she reminded him that there was a backlog of cases and she actually liked spending time with him, like at his loft, not over a body.  After a while, their sporadic conversation stopped and a long silence descended upon the room.  She covertly looked over at Nick, who was leaning against the metal lab bench.  Natalie tried to distract him again as she worked, even telling a funny joke.  She laughed.  He didn’t.  She saw Nick was intensely gazing at the radio again, ignoring her.  If she treated this behavior like an addiction, she knew the person had to be weaned off slowly.  She sighed, realizing Nick really did need this, and told him could turn her radio back on.  She heard more than saw him move toward the radio.  LaCroix’s voice filled the room again, and she returned to the autopsy which was almost finished.  She barely paid the broadcast any attention, but the voice was a constant in the background.  She concentrated on her examination, writing on the form that the death was a homicide, and which injury had been the fatal one and the cascade of events that would have led ultimately to death.  Natalie glanced at the radio and the broadcast claimed her attention again. 

“ _I would do everyone a favor and kill all the lawyers_.”

“ _Yes, which would result in rebellions and anarchy.  From those times in the past I recall, that was always an interesting state of affairs_.” 

That comment brought back too many memories of Richard, and she found she had reached her personal limit of LaCroix.  The voice continued but she ignored it as she took off her gloves and went to the radio to turn it off for the night.  Natalie was glad Nick didn’t protest her decision.  She didn’t want to explain what had upset her, and she didn’t want Nick to feel guilty again about his last interactions with her brother. 

Natalie then headed over to the small metal cart that was full of various solutions; the technicians and forensics personnel would never really notice one extra beaker on her cart.  Since Nick was here now, she might as well have him try the new solution she had made for him, rather than hoping he would be there at the end of her shift.  She carefully grabbed a small 400 mL graduated beaker slightly less than half filled with a blue fluid and peeled off the thin paraffin film covering that had been protecting the opening.  She had realized long ago he would not always voluntarily try these mixtures, so she walked over to Nick, directly handing the glassware to him.  She could tell he was reluctant to take it, but after a brief delay, he took the beaker from her with a look of disgust on his face.  She knew the color was not what he was expecting, but she had decided he needed to see his food in colors other than red, so she had added a blue tint to this one. 

Natalie felt it was important to keep Nick informed about what she was putting into these drinks for him, and how she used his test results to determine what additives should go into the next recipe.  Actually, for this mixture, she had only increased the concentration of the compounds she had put into the last one, knowing he didn’t always remember to drink the whole shake.  This way he could get the nutrients in the levels needed without drinking all of it.  She was concerned that Nick did not seem to be hearing her and was instead only looking at the solution like the liquid was an enemy and dangerous.  Then the protestations started; she was actually surprised Nick had waited as long as he did, usually he tried this sooner.  Natalie listened to him, thinking Nick sounded very similar to Sydney when he didn’t want to take his pills or go to the vet.  And just like with her cat, Natalie knew she had to be firm and insistent.  When Nick finally made eye contact with her, she stared back at him with the clear expectation that the solution would be drunk.  She cared too much for him and his goal to let Nick convince her to stop trying or allow him to stop trying.  Besides, Natalie knew the new recipe was fine; Sydney loved it mixed with his dry food, and the individual compounds had been tested on Nick before with no adverse reaction.  She watched as he gulped down as much of the liquid as possible, her confidence converting to concern as he bent over and began to bring up what he had just swallowed.  Grabbing a liquid biohazard waste container, she held Nick until everything was expelled, apologizing for this recipe and already trying to determine what could have gone wrong in her assumptions and calculations to cause this adverse effect. 


	3. Nick Knight

Nick woke up in a happy mood.  He always enjoyed watching movies with Natalie, as he had done many hours earlier.  Seeing her joy and tears as she cared for characters on the screen, even the monsters, he was struck again at how much of a giving person she was.  Her positive attitude resonated with him, and even hours later, Nick was still experiencing the effect she had on him.  He remained where he was, eyes closed, and enjoyed the feeling of hope and optimism that now seemed more solid and substantial as compared to years in the past.  Natalie herself was a large part of him believing the dream, the goal, of mortality could finally become a reality this time.

This week, to appear more normal, he was on vacation.  Though for him, vacation typically meant that he stayed in Toronto but did not have to report to work.  Nick really had no compelling reason to go visit a city anywhere else; he moved on enough in his life that he would eventually see any place he wanted.  And there was one especially good reason to stay here.  After a while, Nick eventually decided to get out of bed.  He went downstairs and took a shower, but for most of the time, he just let the hot water collide with his skin and flow over him, warming him from the outside inward.  He then dried off and got dressed, too quickly cooling back down to his normal low temperature.  Going past the table behind the leather couch he noticed the answering machine had one message; Nick pressed the play button and listened to the recording while he opened the nearby metal box to get his watch.  Natalie’s voice greeted him and reminded him she was really busy tonight, so to come over to the Coroners Building as close to the ending of her shift as possible to try out a new recipe she had created for him.  The elated feeling of being with Natalie clashed with the sinking feeling of having to try out a new concoction.  He had been noticing a disturbing trend over the course of her treatments: each shake she created was worse-tasting than the previous one.  Perhaps the goal was to have him voluntarily eat human food just to avoid the liquid substitutes.  He grimaced at the thought of choking down solid food, though it was the same reaction he had to the thought of the new recipe.  In any event, that was for later.  He might even be able to come up with a few plausible evasion tactics and entirely avoid having to drink the shake tonight.   

Nick pulled up his black shirt sleeve and glanced at his watch, calculating that he still had many hours until she expected him.  He intended to also spend some time with Janette at the Raven that night, but he would go there after his visit with Natalie.  While he waited, he spent his solitary time reading, playing chess, being bored, and then reorganizing his art.  Finally, when he couldn’t hold his hunger at bay any longer, he slowly walked over to the refrigerator with trepidation, as if he were the prey and wary of a lurking predator.  Opening the appliance, he reached in to retrieve one of the many chilled green bottles of bovine blood contained within.  Nick grabbed the glass body around its neck, pulled it close to his chest, and shut the fridge door. 

Deciding to forego the use of a wine glass, he went straight to the living room area as he pulled out the cork with his teeth and spat the freed object into his hand.  Nick sat down on the leather couch, directly opposite of his fireplace mantle.  Reclining back, he raised the bottle to his lips, then hesitated.  He stared at the wooden dragon on the mantle for a few moments, then drank. 

Nick shut his eyes; he could feel the vampire, the dark hungry beast that writhed within him, as it became more active.  Then, as they always did, the faint whispers began as the beast rose upward, demanding more blood.  Demanding better blood.  Demanding human blood.  He drank some more.  Memories started to flirt by, each so similar to the rest: the exhilarating thrill of the hunt; the enjoyment of the thick, warm, rich human blood that would quickly flow into his mouth and easily slide down his throat; the living memories being shared with him; the experience of life he couldn’t have any other way.  The pleasure, and it was undeniably pleasurable, was always fleeting, Nick reminded himself.  The dead bodies afterward were always permanent.  He drank more of the thin, cold, lifeless animal blood.   

The beast pushed again, harder.  It wanted out, it wanted to let the instinctual drives run free.  Nick leaned forward and drank some more liquid from the bottle, containing his urges.  The beast was not pleased, but with a few more swallows it was temporarily mollified.  It was willing to accept this consolation prize for the moment and started to recede with the tender, caressing promise that it would seize and completely drain a mortal at the first opportunity it got.  Nick pushed the vampire back down and it curled itself up just below the surface.  He had sworn he would not kill a mortal to feed this beast anymore, no matter what whispered excuses, reasons, or tricks his mind would conjure.  He had to stay in control; he would no longer be motivated solely by the primitive, basic needs of the vampire.  Nick opened his eyes, tilted his head upward, and gazed at the dragon.  That was the plan.  That was the vow that he renewed each night, and he lived his version of life one night at a time. 

He got up and rinsed out the newly empty bottle, then went over to his black grand piano, sat down on the bench, and stared at the keys.  He really didn’t want to play with the memories of killing and feeding on his mind; such thoughts would affect the music: darken and chill it.  He wanted to envelop himself in the calming magic the vibrating strings would produce when the hammers rose up to strike them.  He wanted the notes he would hear and feel through his physical contact with the piano to be warm.  He thought of Natalie; she was like a spark of brilliance illuminating his perpetual night.  With her in mind, Nick filled the next hour of his dark world with the sound of light.  When the last note’s vibration finally ended, he felt another vibration.  The sensation was familiar but quickly gone before he could identify it.  He looked up at the heavens through the skylights, to the place where he had felt the pulsation originate.  Seeing and sensing nothing, he dismissed the feeling, resigning it to simply an old memory that might have begun to surface when he played the piano.  An old memory of how he had come to acquire this particular piano.  Nick shook his head to clear away the old thoughts, got up, and prepared to leave to meet Natalie, though it would be much earlier than she expected him to arrive. 

* * *

Nick turned on the radio and adjusted the dial until the receiver picked up the Nightcrawler’s broadcast.  He allowed his maker’s soft voice to permeate through him.  The hypnotic sound called to him, called up so much from him.  This was the siren’s song that had always led him eventually back to LaCroix; he didn’t like that, but he couldn’t ignore that fact either.  Nick listened for a while, not really paying much attention to the words of his sire’s lecture, just to the vocalization.  The voice that he had listened to for centuries, sometimes in comfort, other times in anger, but he had always heard it.  That unique speech pattern he was so sensitive to put him into a trance-like state before he snapped himself out of it.  His attention finally returned to the broadcast.

_“-et for as long as there have been people crawling upon the dust of the Earth, there has been killing.  So, why does Man choose to kill?  Betrayal.  Entertainment.  Fear.  Anger.  Vengeance.  Why did Cain kill Abel?  Jealousy.  Covetousness.  All very bad reasons I am told.”_

_“But what of good reasons?  Protection.  Survival.  Devotion.  Mercy.  Justice.  My personal favorite: sustenance.  The question for tonight, gentle listeners, is simply this: what would it take for you to actually kill?  To strike down mortal Man, what reason is good enough?  Would the reason still be adequate after the deed was done?  Does it even really matter once the decision has been made?  The lines are op-”_

Nick watched as Natalie clicked off the small black portable radio on her desktop.  She complained again about his obsession with listening to that show; his obsession with listening to LaCroix.  She wanted to understand why he needed to tune-in each time.  He smiled at her, gave some random answer, then watched as she donned a fresh pair of gloves and returned to the autopsy, already in progress.  How could he completely explain to her what that voice meant to him, what LaCroix really meant to him, when he at times had difficulty himself understanding the bond.  Through either LaCroix himself, or his own mental connection to his maker, Nick would always seek out that voice; he would always be naturally responsive to its cadences.  He couldn’t help himself.  

Nick watched Natalie work, graceful in her movements, gentle with the unfeeling dead.  Even though he had been on vacation for a few days already, he still showed up here, every night, to be with Natalie as much as possible.  A few minutes or a few hours, all the time shared with her was precious to him.  As she worked she gently reminded him again that there was a large backlog of autopsies still to be done, which was keeping her busy.  She gently reminded him again that she could come over to the loft to spend time with him.  Maybe he should let her work alone in peace, he thought.  Maybe tomorrow night. 

There was a long silence; not awkward, just empty.  They bantered sporadically for a while about inconsequential topics, books and movies and the like, while she finished her examination.  In his peripheral vision, Nick could see she had glanced over at him, though he was back to staring at the radio again.  Perhaps Natalie was right, he did have an unhealthy obsession.  Nick leaned back, hands against the metal counter with the built-in sink while she did her best to distract him as she weighed organs.  Natalie must have realized that her distractions just weren’t going to completely work tonight.  She said something about being sorry she interrupted his daily dose of LaCroix and gave permission to turn the broadcast on again.  Nick quickly launched himself off the counter and clicked the radio back on.  Not that Nick didn’t care about her, but Natalie was correct, he did need some amount of uninterrupted LaCroix, and it was better getting his fix through the show than in person.  His maker’s silky voice filled the room again. 

_“What do think, Bob?  What would you kill for?”_

_"I want to survive, so I would kill.  You know, so I can keep living.”_

_“Of course; there is nothing wrong with that.  Simply speaking, you want to save a life.  You think one life is worth more than another and willing to kill to prove that yours is more valuable.  But what will happen when you meet another who believes their life has more merit than yours?  I know how it will end; they always end the same way.  I cannot say I will be sorry.  Next caller.”_

_“Hi, this is Mark.  This is so awesome that I got through!  I would kill anyone you told me to, Nightcrawler.”_

_“What fine sentiments, Mark.  I might hold you to that vow one day.  But for now, let’s get the next caller.”_

_“I would do everyone a favor and kill all the lawyers.”_

_“Yes, which would result in rebellions and anarchy.  From those times in the past I recall, that was always an interesting state of affairs.”_

_“Zander.  I would kill the guilty to spare the innocent from them.”_

_“My young Zander, it sounds like you want to be the hero fighting off the villainous monsters.  Innocent, guilty, hero, villain, purity, impurity; such words are really all a matter of perspective.”_

That topic was one Nick had no intention of hearing from his maker again, and he found he had reached his fill of LaCroix for the night anyway.  Apparently, Natalie had reached her limit as well because she had doffed her gloves and was already headed toward the radio to turn it off again.  A single click silenced LaCroix for the night.  Nick turned his gaze to her, tracking her through the room as she next went over to the small metal cart with her bottled liquids and selected a glass beaker slightly less than half filled with a light blue fluid.  Natalie peeled off a thin covering, exposing the solution to the air.  She walked over to him, putting the glassware in his hand.  His sensitive smell receptors had already been picking up the odor, which was not pleasant and did not bode well for the taste of the liquid itself.

Nick made a grimace as he accepted and held the beaker, trying to not crush it.  Such an unnatural color to drink, he thought; Natalie could at least add food dye or something to make it more visually appealing.  She was talking, explaining what new additives and such were in this recipe that was different than the others.  He was not paying much attention to her words, his gaze still focused on the liquid she expected him to drink.  Nick swirled and tipped the beaker, noting that the solution sluggishly moved and that its consistency was very close to his shampoo.  This might even be shampoo for all he knew.  He stared into the beaker with disgust as he launched into his first evasion tactic, questioning the ingredients and whether they were really compatible with a vampire’s body.  He listened to her response; she did not sound like she accepted his concerns.  Looking up at her, he sighed.  Nick really didn’t want to disappoint Natalie, especially since she was standing in front of him, watching him expectantly.  She was trying to bring him back across, after all, he reminded himself.  Nick again marveled that she cared for him so freely; that the caring was such a basic part of herself that she kept testing, kept researching, kept working to help him, no matter all the previous failed results.  For her, Nick knew he would do anything, and that included trying whatever this concoction was she had mixed up for him.  Abandoning the other countermeasures he had thought up to avoid drinking this substance tonight, he finally brought the glassware up to his lips.  Nick forced his eyes closed and tried to imagine anything other than the vile, unnatural taste in his mouth as he quickly drank as much of the beaker’s contents as he could.  He gagged, but forced himself to swallow the syrupy fluid anyway.  The vampire, thinking it was being fed, wiggled up, and then immediately recoiled.  Nick was in agreement with his beast this time: Natalie’s new recipe was terrible.  Then that thought was pushed aside as he convulsed and doubled over as his body violently rid itself of a product that was not acceptable to his system.

 


	4. Janette DuCharme

Janette woke up in a preoccupied mood, and much earlier than she would have preferred; however, she had to be ready to open the Raven that night.  Additionally, she had a pile of paperwork to go through and a delivery was to arrive that she had to make sure was complete this time.  Though some of these mundane activities were bromidic, at least she was where she wanted to be, for the moment.  Unlike the more nomadic vampires, she preferred to stay in one locale and not move on constantly every few years or so.  Staying, Janette felt like she was rooted and that gave her a sense of stability, an essential sentiment considering the instability she often experienced when she was caught between Nicolas and LaCroix.    

Responsibility finally drove her out of bed and she headed to the en-suite to take a quick shower.  She stepped into the tub and turned on the shower head, adjusting the temperature until the water was warm.  Janette reached for the shampoo and snapped open the bottle, wrinkling her nose at the horrid odor that assaulted her.  Her current toiletry color theme was pink, so she had pink shampoo, conditioner, and soap.  All of these products were apparently supposed to be strawberry scented.  Janette shook her head in disgust.  She knew what strawberries were supposed to smell like and that could not be found in these pink objects, which reeked more of chemicals that emanated from vinyl plastics than the fruit pictured on the packaging.  Undeterred by the false advertising of these items, she quickly finished and then attired herself for the night, choosing a black form-fitting dress to wear.  Janette went over to her vanity table with its oval mirror, sat down on the short stool, and worked on her hair and makeup.  From one of the side drawers in the vanity she pulled out the earrings she had decided to wear that night and put them on.  She admired the jewelry, each a string of multiple round Tahitian pearls, their dark charcoal gray color with silver overtone complemented her complexion.  These she had recently received as a gift from Nicolas.  He would drop off gifts like this for her when their drifting lives brought them in close proximity to each other, and occasionally there would be more from him than just the gift.  Sighing wistfully at those memories, she put on a little more makeup until she was satisfied.  Janette finished by attaching her black ribbon choker around her neck and donning her long, black opera gloves.  Rising, she left her suite to go into the back rooms of the Raven where the bottles were securely stored, the key to open the barrier gates hidden within her glove.    

As Janette claimed a clean wine glass from the cabinet, she experienced the increased shifting and stirring of her hunger.  Unlike LaCroix or Nicolas, she had no intention of delaying the satisfaction of that particular need.  She knew of no reason to taunt the craving, that insistent drive to seek out sustenance from human blood which would eventually override any other concern she had until she fed, and every reason to quickly end it so she could get on with her night.  Janette went to retrieve a bottle and poured a glass of her current favorite vintage.  Unlike her maker, she did not necessarily miss the hunt.  There was the thrill of the pursuit and final capture, which was exciting and made the final kill more exhilarating, she had enjoyed that part.  However, for so many centuries in the past, she was often wearing clothes so cumbersome that much of the pleasure was lost as she tried to move in those restraining garments.  Even when the most restricting pieces were left off, moving and hunting was still not always easy.  Bottles were definitely less problematic with fashion, and quicker. 

Janette brought the glass to her lips and allowed a small amount of the thick red liquid to flow into her mouth, then roll down her throat.  A wave of relief and pleasure washed over her, almost like an immediate reward from the vampire now that it was being fed, and the whispered promise of more if additional blood was provided.  She drank more from the glass and noted that the sharp craving had begun to subside.  As she experienced the limited memories and emotions embedded in the blood, she felt a small portion of her mind, like a tiny thread, that attempted to reach out to the mortal whose blood this was and make the mental contact.  The thread would never connect, the donor being too far away, so Janette ignored it, knowing this would fade.  She took another sip.  That was one experience she did miss from drinking directly from a mortal, that mental connection that was achieved that allowed her to have the mortal pour their whole existence into their blood for her to partake in, and for her to share with them.  To experience the individual and be that person for as long as the blood flowed, that within the time of the feeding embrace she was completely alive and experiencing a whole life, that was not possible with bottled blood, which was only a very small part of their existence and no more.  And she could not share herself with them.  As Janette drank the last of what was left in the glass she thought of Nicolas.  With the animal blood he forced himself to drink there were no memories or emotions that could be experienced through the blood, nothing beyond the most basic and primitive.  Janette was sure that was one of the reasons Nicolas felt so isolated and alone: he never let himself connect, share, and experience life, fully experience life the only way a vampire could.  He was unattached, which was an unnatural state for their kind.  Carouches possibly also felt separated, but she did not concern herself with what the lower forms of vampires experienced.            

As she walked to the front of the Raven to open the doors for the staff and the first early patrons of the night, she heard the others that stayed the day in the guest areas of the club moving about.  By the end of the night, some of those would leave, others would stay a little longer in the safe sanctuary she had created here, and a few new ones would arrive.  That was the familiar pattern that had been occurring here for years.  Janette would talk with all of them, but that was for later.  She admitted Miklos and the others, then left them to prepare; each knew what needed to be done and she needed to check on the delivery that was to arrive soon.  She hardly had to wait very long at the back of the club before the delivery truck arrived, inconspicuous, with no business markings on the sides.  There was nothing to indicate that bottles of human blood were transported within.  She inspected the delivery, confirmed the order was complete, signed to accept the shipment, and turned her back to the truck as it pulled away. 

She looked at the delivered items.  The donors for most of these bottles were told their blood would save lives.  Well, that was true, Janette mused.  The blood would not be infused into a mortal, but imbibed by a vampire.  Because of this option, her kind did not have to hunt and kill to sustain themselves.  So in the end, mortal lives were saved.  Janette always made sure the donors from every bottle she served at the Raven were not local, so no vampire would be tempted to seek out the mortal and fully complete the donation.

Meticulously sorting through the bottles, she first put aside those to be served at the club.  The next set organized were the special custom orders her more discerning clientele requested.  A phone call to each would let them know their bottles had arrived and then these would be couriered directly to the client.  The last one she handled was a dark hexagon-shaped bottle.  This vintage was for LaCroix: the donated blood of a poet.  As she read the label a knowing smile played across her lips; this was one of her maker’s current favorite poets, who voluntarily donated his blood sporadically.  The collector working at the donation center would have known this, would have been told by her supplier to watch out for this one, and would have made sure this poet's donation went to the bottle instead of the hospital.  And later tonight, she would personally hand carry this to LaCroix’s broadcast booth before his show started.  She had her staff begin the phone calls and put the bottles in the back rooms while she went the club area to check on the preparation and patrons. 

Already the club had a number of vampires ordering their meals and a few mortals were drinking as well.  A disturbance at the front door called her over.  Janette stood there looking at some young mortals who were irritated at being denied entrance to the club when they had seen others their age permitted in.  How was she to explain that the ones they saw were actually over three hundred years old.  She did not bother, instead simply hypnotized them into leaving and not coming back.  Sometimes the easiest solution was the best solution to the problem.   

Returning back inside, Janette handled the patrons as she did every night.  As the time came closer for her to leave, she sought out Miklos, put him in charge, grabbed the bottle for LaCroix, and headed over to the radio station.  After leaving the item, she decided to check on Nicolas before returning to the Raven, knowing at this time he would still be at his home and not immersed in his mortal world. 

Landing silently on the roof of her beloved’s warehouse, she glanced down through the skylight and saw that he was sitting on the leather couch, a green bottle of animal blood clutched tightly in his hand.  Janette watched as he leaned forward like he was in pain, and her first response was to enter the room and help him.  But she stopped herself; she knew he would not want that, that he was not in physical pain, but mental.  Her knight was fighting with his personal dragon again; he was fighting with his vampire.  Nicolas would not welcome her help or her recommendation, which would be to accept what he was and drink what he needed: human blood.  She could coax him, and out of love for her he would eventually drink some, but he would resent her afterward and Janette knew she did not want to endure that again. So she stayed on the roof enduring, in silence, his suffering.

A short time later Nicolas was done feeding and was cleaning out the bottle in the kitchen area when Janette felt it: the deep, strong, pulsing vibration that told her LaCroix was nearby.  She turned and watched him rise and land on the roof not too far from her.  She warily studied him, trying to determine if her maker was here to hurt Nicolas or not.  Both scenarios were equally likely.  But what she was picking up through her link with her maker was concern for Nicolas; she relaxed.  He was here tonight for the same reason she was: they each missed the younger vampire. 

She saw LaCroix look down the skylight into the loft and a look of pleasure crossed his face.  Janette returned her gaze to Nicolas and saw he was now sitting at his piano, ready to play.  She was pleased as well; she enjoyed hearing him play.  LaCroix sat down and beckoned her over.  She sat in his lap rather than directly on the dirty roof, holding her maker’s hand while Nicolas’ fingers struck the piano keys to bring the instrument’s strings to life.  Janette remembered in the past having listened to him practicing, fumbling and constantly correcting himself, trying so hard to get better.  Despite her suggestions at the time, Nicolas had refused to feed from accomplished pianists; he had said he did not want to use another’s acquired talent but wanted to work on finding and creating his own.  Nicolas had needed to prove that he could learn and produce something without involving his vampire abilities, something that would last beyond the few hours the mortal blood, and the mortal’s talent, would have remained within him.  She had also suspected he had needed a way to express himself that, even with all the languages he knew, no spoken words could.  Janette had never heard this particular ordering of notes from Nicolas before, but she recognized the overall feel of the music.  She had heard him play like that for her over the centuries: he was playing the sound of love.  When he finished and the last living note quivered then finally died, she knew the time to leave had arrived.  Nicolas was often quite unaware of his surroundings, and paid as little attention to his link with his maker as possible, but if he knew they were both here he would be irritated.  She gracefully rose and LaCroix went his way while she headed to her club. 

* * *

Back at the Raven, her night proceeded as usual.  Janette would sometimes be behind the bar, sipping a vintage every now and then, as she watched and guarded her territory.  Châtelaine of the domain she had built.  So many times in the past she had not been able to hold onto anything for herself, but this modern era had been beneficial to women, allowing her control of her life in ways not possible before.  Often she would leave the bar stroll around the crowd in the main area and the smaller rooms, where she made sure everyone was taken care of and that no one was being mistreated.  Janette did not tolerate abuse of any kind in her club, whether the action was directed against a vampire or a mortal. 

Many patrons routinely listened to the Nightcrawler and throughout the night she would often hear snippets of the show on the radio playing in one of the back rooms and tonight was no different.  Needing to retrieve a bottle from the storage racks, she listened to the various pieces of dialog from tonight’s broadcast as she walked past.  Looking into the room, she was not surprised to see Alma with Mark in a mixed group listening intently, as they often did together, to LaCroix’s lecture.

_“-Death chases you, and when you stop running or trip, that is when Death falls upon its prey, finally claiming what was always its own, something you simply borrowed for a while but had to return.  For a rare few, Death does not reta-”_

Returning with the bottle safely in her arm, she walked past the radio on her way back toward the bar. 

_“-is part of you.  Cessation literally defines you.  You are expected to die.  It is your fate, your destiny.  And there are many means for your destiny to be fulfilled.”_

After Janette had handed the bottle to the bartender, she glided past a few young vampires and overheard their boasting conversation and immediately escorted them into an empty private room.  They were very young and wanted to try out their increasing strength against one they thought was weaker: her Nicolas.  She aggressively encouraged them to leave Nicolas alone.  With a hiss they left her and Janette hoped they would not pursue their idea.  Nicolas, she knew, was often seen by other vampires to be strange because of how he chose to live and feed.  He was sometimes treated like a carouche and thought to be weak like one as well.  They did not understand that Nicolas would kill them without hesitation if they attacked him or anyone important to him.  She did not want him to do that, hurt their kind, which would make him feel even more isolated and separated.  That, in turn, would make it harder to convince him to return: return to her; return to LaCroix; return to his true nature; return to his own kind.  She went back to the bar area to mingle again.       

It did not take too long before Janette found her thoughts wandering back to Nicolas again.  She looked forward to the times he would come to see her, not for his mortal police concerns, but to see her.  Sometimes he simply needed to be near her, sometimes he needed to talk to her, and sometimes he needed her understanding and her silence.  Nicolas had been randomly coming to the club in the late evening during his vacation time, and she hoped he would come in tonight as well.  She could already imagine him, just like so many times in the past, sitting at one of the smaller tables and letting the other vampires flow past him while he would stay aloof, an unmoving stone on the fringes of their society.  He would let her come close, but no other.  Then no doubt, just like so many times in the past, too quickly he would vanish and leave her alone in the Raven. Though the club would be packed with mortals and vampires, he would not be there anymore.  Janette would wait for him; that at least she would always do for him: wait until he decided to come back, back however much he was willing to come.  Janette shook her head in exasperation over what to do about Nicolas and the turmoil he unknowing caused in her because she cared so much for him. 

She continued to play hostess throughout the evening, interacting with the regulars and new individuals, and those who would spend the daylight hours here before moving on again.  But even in the bar area, Janette could still very faintly pick up the radio broadcast, the sound of her marker’s voice something she would always focus upon.  As with all offspring to their maker, she would naturally respond to it, seek it out, and pay attention to its cadences.  She concentrated on that voice, and all the other noises in the club faded away while she listened.    

_“Believe me, Zander, when I say that a single whisper can taint the blameless and exonerate the corrupt.  Such words are, therefore, really only an illusion, with no substance whatsoever.”_

She was just beginning a conversation with a new vampire who had recently arrived to the city when she cocked her head to one side.  She had felt an odd intense vibration resonate through her link with LaCroix, but the sensation had subsided.  Since the feeling faded quickly, she knew there was no lasting danger and returned to her conversation.  No doubt the feeling had something to do with Nicolas. 


	5. Lucien LaCroix

LaCroix woke up in an agreeable mood, then realized the source of the emotion came from Nicholas.  He would have to determine what had put his favorite into that rare state of mind so early in the night, but that was for later.  His link with his son was always open, but the sensation occupied a small portion of his attention.  If Nicholas was closer, or hurt, or experiencing something intense, then LaCroix’s full attention would be on it, but otherwise, the connection was a constant hum that for nearly eight hundred years he considerably enjoyed feeling.        

He rose out of bed and immediately headed to prepare his bath.  As the tub filled he thought of the much larger baths in the thermae and balneae that could be found in the cities of the Roman Empire.  Many were destroyed by later conquerors or left to slowly fall into ruin.  So many things over time fall apart, he darkly mused, not just buildings and empires.  When the temperature of the water was exactly as desired, he entered the tub and sank into the fluid until almost his entire chest was submerged, then began his ritual.  Even after so many millennia, he kept to the same routine whenever possible, even using lavender, as Romans of old had always done.  Once finished, he thoroughly dried off, dressed in his dark clothing and black jacket, put on his large silver ring, and secured his sword pin in his shirt collar.  He sat down in his leather chair and read the many newspapers he had delivered in order to keep informed with both the local and global news.  The language the paper was printed in did not matter, he could easily read them all.  And if he needed to acquire a new language, that could be easily accomplished using his favorite method.   

LaCroix felt his vampire portion, the beast Nicholas had once called it, as it rose up, wanting to be fed.  He heard the whispers beginning and the gentle tug, a reminder to quickly acquire human blood.  The elder controlled the urge, as he controlled so much else in his life.  LaCroix would enjoy the feeling of anticipation and the growing need as the night wore on.  He would walk amongst the mortals, surround himself with warm temptations, imagine how he would kill them, but choose not to.  At least not tonight.  Thought it was encouraged in the Community for vampires to not feed off humans directly, allowances were made for older vampires such as himself: vampires who lived in the times before bottled blood and therefore were used to hunting, and could control themselves.  Even if this understanding was not in place, he would feed as he chose to anyway.  However, instead of feeding naturally, LaCroix would drink later in the night on blood that had been extracted by another.  He would have blood from a poet, the bottle hand-delivered to his booth at the radio station.  LaCroix found that such a unique vintage put him in the best frame of mind to pour out his lectures and lessons over the air.

The elder vampire exited his current residence and strolled randomly around the various streets and alleys on his way to his destination before his broadcast.  Going past one darkened alley, he heard a scuffle which caught his attention, then the shattering sound of a glass bottle being broken upon the ground.  He moved in closer and observed as multiple mortals ganged up on a single man with the clear intention of killing him.  As the deed was done and the living ran off, LaCroix assessed their ability and found them lacking.  Nicholas had been better and more efficient the first time he had made his kill in the back alley of a large city.  Even the soldiers LaCroix had trained when he was mortal were better than these were.  The distant sound of sirens caused him to jerk his head to one side.  He watched as the police cars came closer, their intense blinking colored lights and clarion call heralded their arrival.  He realized someone must have called a while ago to have the police show up so close to the time of the killing.  He did not bother to stay since he knew his Nicholas would not be among them tonight.  Watching the police was a habit he often indulged, in the chance he might observe his son from a distance.  But he knew Nicholas would be at his home and not here, so LaCroix slowly walked that way, leaving the dead body in the custody of the police officers.  Mortals should handle their own kind, LaCroix thought; he had his own to worry about and care for. 

Through his link he could feel Nicholas’ insistent craving as the need to feed increased: his son was trying to deny himself again.  LaCroix shook his head in exasperation; when would his child learn he cannot deny what he is.  Nicholas was not strong enough and the animal blood was only making him weaker, and thus, even less able to completely control himself.  By the time LaCroix had arrived at the bricked warehouse building, Nicholas had finally fed on his bovine blood, barely addressing his need, and not even coming close to satisfying the requirement.  His son, the elder knew, never would be able to have small stretches of peace if he kept drinking that swill instead of what he should be consuming.  LaCroix decided he would have some bottles of the best vintage stocked at the Raven sent over, which would be proper nourishment and calm his son’s craving.  Maybe not, the elder reflected, having just remembered Nicholas’ reaction the last time he had done that.  Then again, LaCroix considered as he smirked, he might have the bottles delivered anyway.

Having risen to the roof, he found Janette already by a skylight.  So many times in the past he would find her here.  He never asked her why she was there, it was the same reason he was.  They were watching Nicholas, to make sure he was alright and because they missed him.  Lately, this was usually the closest to Nicholas he could get without an argument; the closest he could be with his son, though his child was not aware.  Very often his favorite son was unaware of so many things. 

LaCroix looked down through the glass panes and watched as Nicholas went to his piano and sat down.  LaCroix smiled; it appeared they would have a private concert tonight.  He sat down with his favorite daughter, holding her hand while they listened to Nicholas play.  His son was so expressive, and the music he had made that night was some of his best.  The piece was passionately evocative and so wholly personal LaCroix knew he was experiencing Nicholas’ bright spark: the source of his child’s love and creativity in the otherwise dark void of the vampire’s existence.  This was the part of Nicholas that could create not death and destruction like so many of their kind, but something that was almost alive: tenderness made tangible; adoration made audible.  Then the music stopped and the last note vibrated and faded gently away into the silence of the night.  LaCroix knew Nicholas’ attention, diverted while he was playing, would return and both of them would need to be gone before his son realized they were present.  LaCroix bid his daughter farewell and went his way toward the radio station to prepare for that night’s broadcast, knowing Janette would be heading back to the Raven.  He would spend some time with her later tonight, just the two of them. 

* * *

LaCroix leaned over, making sure he was close to the microphone, and began his lesson for that night, inspired by the local reports in the newspapers of increased violence in the street and what he had witnessed earlier himself.

“Tonight we are speaking of life, dear listeners.  How can you be sure if something is alive?  Kill it and see if it can die; that is really the only proof you need.”  He carefully poured out some of his drink into his small crystal glass and delicately took a sip, then returned the glass back to the desk surface near his hand.  He felt the vampire uncoil itself and quickly rise up, eager for the offered libation while the poet’s talent rushed into his mind, eager for the inspiration.  “They say on swift wings Death comes for us all, in time.  For some, that moment arrives quickly; for others, that moment of stillness is far into the future.  Only the Fates know for sure, having been the ones who weaved the life thread into their large tapestry.  They alone know the overall design and how much, or how little, your presence was needed and required.”  LaCroix sipped from his vintage again.

“Some believe Death chases you, and when you stop running or trip, that is when Death falls upon its prey, finally claiming what was always its own, something you simply borrowed for a while but had to return.  For a rare few, Death does not retain its prize for long, but loses it.  Still others believe Death is a companion, one that walks with you and will eventually take you with it to the beyond.  What is beyond,” LaCroix sighed, “who knows?  More life?  A different type of existence?  Or oblivion once the brain finishes with the last dream that was your life and tries to create the next part, only to realize there is nothing more to conjure, so stops trying.  Either way, Death is unavoidable.  Death will always find you because to be mortal means death is part of you.  Cessation literally defines you.  You are expected to die.  It is your fate, your destiny.  And there are many means for your destiny to be fulfilled.”

“So what will terminate your mortal life upon this plane of existence?  How will you exit?  Naturally.  Silently.  The winding down of the flesh in old age.  But other times the end comes not from within, but from an outside source.  Infection.  Another organism claiming what it wants, what it needs, from you.” 

LaCroix looked down at the newspapers laying on one corner of his desk, the headlines boldly announcing yet more killings in the city.  “To be killed.  Many recoil at the thought, the taking of a life, yet for as long as there have been people crawling upon the dust of the Earth, there has been killing.  So, why does Man choose to kill?  Betrayal.  Entertainment.  Fear.  Anger.  Vengeance.  Why did Cain kill Abel?  Jealousy.  Covetousness.  All very bad reasons I am told.”  He paused.  “But what of good reasons?  Protection.  Survival.  Devotion.  Mercy.  Justice.  My personal favorite: sustenance.  The question for tonight, gentle listeners, is simply this: what would it take for you to actually kill?  To strike down mortal Man, what reason is good enough?  Would the reason still be adequate after the deed was done?  Does it even really matter once the decision has been made?  The lines are open, and I am calling out to you, calling you closer like the song of the sirens.  Whom out there will be tempted to come near and respond?”

He took a number of calls in quick succession.  Some were from new listeners, the remaining ones from loyal fans who tuned in every night.  None were his favorite son.  They never were.  But one day, one call might be from him.  Or better yet, Nicholas himself may show up to the booth, as he had done a few times in the past.  One day, LaCroix contemplated, Nicholas would eventually become tired and abandon these useless pursuits, and his lost prodigal son would finally choose to rejoin him again.  They would then move on to someplace that did not have so many painful memories as this city did.  Leaving and rejoining him was a common-enough pattern of Nicholas’ that LaCroix knew it was only a matter of time before their next reunion.  Time was, to a certain degree, meaningless to him after all.  Unlike the mortals his son played with, he had the time to wait. 

Soon there were long stretches between calls.  He played music, then lectured some more, and finally baited for more calls.  LaCroix refilled his glass and took a sip of blood when he saw the light indicating another caller was waiting.  He pushed a button on the panel to connect with the person.  He did not even have a chance to speak before the woman had launched into a short tirade about how people should focus on life, not death.  LaCroix sighed heavily as he thought that life and death were always intertwined, always together.  Life and death were the dance partner to the other; the first and last dance.  Some of the lucky even survived the final dance to find a new partner for eternity.  A few smooth words and a slip of his finger disconnected the woman before she could launch a second verbal assault.  Another quick flick of his finger upon the blinking button allowed the next one through.  “Looks like we have another caller.  What is your name?”

“ _Bob_.”

“What do think, Bob?  What would you kill for?”

“ _I want to survive, so I would kill.  You know, so I can keep living_.”

“Of course; there is nothing wrong with that.  Simply speaking, you want to save a life.  You think one life is worth more than another and willing to kill to prove that yours is more valuable.”  LaCroix often considered if he would bring a listener across, these mortals that sought him out and voluntarily let him into their life.  Perhaps the voice of a caller, or their passion, would intrigue him enough to track them down and offer his gift of eternal life.  However, none so far had caught more than his barest attention, and Bob was not even one of those.  “But what will happen when you meet another who believes their life has more merit than yours?  I know how it will end; they always end the same way.  I cannot say I will be sorry.  Next caller.”

“ _Hi, this is Mark.  This is so awesome that I got through!  I would kill anyone you told me to, Nightcrawler_.”

LaCroix grinned; if only Nicholas was so willing.  There was a time, he remembered, when his son had been.  “What fine sentiments, Mark.  I might hold you to that vow one day.”  LaCroix recognized this person and knew the mortal would be at the Raven, as he was every night.  Perhaps he would talk to this young one, later.  “But for now, let’s get the next caller.” 

“ _I would do everyone a favor and kill all the lawyers_.”

A quick, sad smile played on LaCroix’s lips.  So many had no idea what that line really meant, but were more than willing to quote it.  “Yes, which would result in rebellions and anarchy.  From those times in the past I recall, that was always an interesting state of affairs.”  LaCroix let the next caller connect with him.   

“ _Zander.  I would kill the guilty to spare the innocent from them_.”

That mentality sounded too familiar to the elder, and he was more than aware of what conclusions such ideas led to.  “My young Zander, it sounds like you want to be the hero fighting off the villainous monsters.  Innocent, guilty, hero, villain, purity, impurity; such words are really all a matter of perspective.  From my perspective, all these words are completely meaningless.”  He took another sip of blood and gently put the glass back down.  “Believe me, Zander, when I say that a single whisper can taint the blameless and exonerate the corrupt.  Such words are, therefore, really only an illusion, with no substance whatsoever.”  His son never learned that, and now, refused to kill anyone.  Well, mortals, anyway.  “I knew a man once who wanted to protect the innocent from a terrible monster.  Turned out he did not know what innocence, or guilt, really looked like.  He felt betrayed, but where did that betrayal really originate from?  Was it from the guilty, who were not monstrous enough?  Was it from the virtuous, who were not more obviously pure?  Or was the source from himself that he could not recognize and judge between the two?  Everyone is guilty and innocent of something and nothing, Zander.  That is why the words have no real meaning.  The betrayal is that such words exist at all.”

LaCroix could sense via his link with Nicholas that his son had stopped paying attention to him for the night.  He uttered some finishing remarks with the caller, though his mind was not really on the broadcast anymore since his actual target listener was not going to hear this.  He still sent tapes over to his son, so Nicholas could hear what he had missed, but the elder knew they were never played.  Often LaCroix would go over to his child’s home when Nicholas was out working and simply spend time there.  He had found the box containing his tapes one night.  Unopened, the tapes still sealed within their plastic wrapping.  But he still sent them over anyway. 

Once he had clicked the button to end the call, LaCroix leaned back in his chair while the radio station’s obligatory ads aired.  He picked up a strange emotion coming from his favorite, then an incredibly vile taste that ended in pain.  LaCroix lurched forward and reached over to his glass and quickly drained all the human blood within in an attempt to override the sensation.  He then poured out some more and drank that as well, refusing, even in pain, to chug straight from the bottle like an uncultured barbarian.  He greatly disliked it when Nicholas tried something new from that annoying doctor, each disgusting nostrum being worse than the last.  Before LaCroix had to go back on the air, he thought of all the methods at his disposal he could use to kill her, then stopped himself.  He changed his tactic to determining how he could convince Nicholas to kill her, which was a better challenge and one more worthy of his abilities.


End file.
